


In the Shadows

by Ars_Matron



Series: Harry Potter Omegaverse Week 2020 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha Hermione Granger, Alpha Tom Riddle, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Ron Weasley, Bonding, Claiming, I, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Nothing explicit, Omega Harry Potter, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Tom Riddle, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22930492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ars_Matron/pseuds/Ars_Matron
Summary: For so many years Harry had been running. Hiding. Hoping that Tom had simply forgotten him. Or, thinking that Harry was just a beta, had decided to chase someone else.He should have known better.Living close to knockturn alley.Even the shadows all have eyes.______Harry Potter Omegaverse Week, Free Day
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Harry Potter Omegaverse Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645051
Comments: 26
Kudos: 1098
Collections: Harry Potter Omegaverse





	In the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Free Day! 
> 
> I'm not sure how to label this other than that. 
> 
> If you haven't read my note on the series page.  
> Male omegas and female alphas are both intersex. They are born with both sets of genitalia. As children they are known as gammas and seen as the same until they present.  
> There's just a small part that won't make sense if you don't already know this. 
> 
> ENJOY!

The path was clear. As it always was this time of day. It was too late for anyone to be about during the lunch rush, and too early for anyone to be headed home. Well, anyone other than Harry. He moved swiftly through the empty alley’s and side streets. The way was narrow and twisting as he left the market place of Diagon Alley behind and moved further into the old residential district. Here ancient buildings towered and leaned against each other, cracks in the aged brick and plaster facades served as receptacles for flowering vines and the little sprites that flocked towards vast concentrations of magic such as one found in wizarding cities. Enormous windows loomed, their curtains pulled back for what little light crept into the alleys and bare balconies with potted herbs and flowers and rickety chairs were all he had as company through his mad dash home. 

That didn’t stop the chill of fear that crept up his spine, had him looking into every window, glancing over his shoulder every time the wind sent a petal, leaf, or flag twitching. Harry didn’t leave his flat as often as he used to, he certainly did do it in the middle of the day. But he had needed more provisions, things that couldn’t wait for Ron or Hermione to get back home. Desperate times called for desperate matters and he would be more than happy to sit through one of Hermione’s ‘I told not to wait so long.’ speeches when they got home. 

He only had to make it there first. 

Silly. He was just being silly! There was no one there. There was no way that He had a sixth sense to know when Harry actually left his home. Two years and not a peep. It was clear He didn’t know where Harry lived. And after today Harry wouldn’t make the same mistake of leaving everything to the last moment...again. 

Never again. 

His hand shook as he reached into robes for his keys, they were nondescript, navy blue and a thick enough wool to keep not only the chill at bay, but his scent within. Taking deep breaths he tried to centre himself, clear his head. Steady his hands. If He was around Harry would be able to scent him. The breeze didn’t carry too heavily in the narrow alleys, scents lingered. There was no hint of sweet orange blossom on the breeze, no heady musk of sandalwood. He was worrying over nothing. 

The landing was dark, closed and tight. The only scents were his own and those of Ron and Hermione, and their single neighbor. Lilac, cocoa, honey, rosewater, spring rain and wildflowers, with just a lingering hint of jasmin and sugar, all mixed together to make one scent. Home. 

Harry scurried up the stairs to their flat he had the door open and then locked tight behind him so fast barely a breath of air had escaped. Leaning against the door he took a moment to catch his breath. He’d done it! He went out, got the potions he needed and made it home before arousing any suspicions. The day was a success! 

Not that Harry being out was a bad thing. There was no one in town who didn’t want him out and about. No reason, beyond the one that ate at his nerves, to remain inside and hidden away. Most omegas got to walk around freely after all. How else were they supposed to find a mate? 

Harry on the other hand didn’t need the help. He wanted nothing more than to ignore what fate had set before him. A marriage that had been set, not in stone, nothing to so fragile as that, but in his very blood and veins by his family and those of his betrothed. He shuddered at the very word. Betrothed. Such a kind word for what He really was. 

Harry didn’t need or want him. Or anyone else for that matter. The only problem, the only thing keeping Harry there, in the shadows, was that unbonded omegas couldn’t technically work. They couldn’t travel alone. They couldn’t live alone. They couldn’t be out, alone. 

The only blessing was that most people didn’t know he was an omega. They thought that, like Ron, Harry was a beta, and they simply shared a flat with Hermione as the alpha of their little pack. It was expected that at one point in the future they would move somewhere bigger, somewhere that they would all take mates and form a pack in true. 

If only they knew. 

Hermione’s and Ron’s room was closest to the door. She wanted to be there if someone ever tried to get in at night, and sometimes she just couldn’t curb the instinct that made her go a little over board with Harry’s protection. So he took the room at the furthest part of the flat. The room with a single, tiny window that even he probably couldn’t wiggle out of. The room with a private little bath, and nook that was perfect for storing extra food and a little table he kept a hot plate and kettle on, always ready for when Harry was ‘sick’ and needed to stay cooped up for a week. 

Whenever he would run out of his potions. 

They were hard to come by. Illegal. Rare. And his supplier didn’t live within the city. Hermione had tried to find out what they were made of, but she could never get it quite right. Harry always ended up smelling like something strange. Like candy floss and meatloaf, which was no where near better than his normal rain water and wildflowers, and had been very hard to explain to his peers when he’d gone into work a few days after the botched experiment. 

Because, to everyone else, everyone outside of this flat, Harry Potter, beta, was one of the best aurors of his generation. He had a knack for solving puzzles, a fantastic instinct for finding clues, and his small size made it easy for him to go about unseen. 

And if anyone ever found out he’d probably be fined by the Ministry before they handed him over to his legal mate and alpha. 

Harry had seen him from time to time. First, five years ago after he had presented. Hermione had already smuggled him the potion by then, Harry was for all purposes just a beta. If a small one. His intended had sneered down at him, narrowing his eyes at Harry as though he could see the deception if he only looked hard enough, but he had eventually let Harry walk off. 

After all, what interest would an alpha have with a beta male?

Here and there throughout the years their paths had crossed again. Harry was always very careful. He had never let the time between his potions go so long before. There would be nothing but his muted, beta scent for his intended to smell, nothing out of the ordinary for him to see. 

Which was why he was so on edge that day. He had gone too long. He should have taken Hermione up on her offer of trying another one of her concoctions. As heinous as they were, it would have done something to hide his now burgeoning scent. He would have certainly asked for something by that night, he had already written to the office saying he was feeling under the weather. Either he would take the potion and be able to go in the next day, or prepare for a heat he’d rather not have, but as luck would have it he had received an owl. His supplier was in town. Harry was saved! 

So what if he had set up shop closer to Knockturn than he usually did. Or that he was lurking in the shadows. It wasn’t as though Harry had ever seen his face to begin with and the potion looked the same. It had the same faint scent of anise and peppermint. It tasted the same, and the light ache that had started in his joints that morning would soon be soothed. It always took a little longer to actually kick all the way in. 

He couldn’t scent himself, of course. But he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. And if it happened that the potion didn’t work, Ron or Hermione would let him know before he left the flat. 

Harry sighed in relief as he put the rest of his supplies away. An extra vial of potion, it had been incredibly costly but it was worth it. After this last scare he never wanted to be without again. He also had some teas, a little pack of chocolates, some fresh cream, and a few odds and ins for quick meals. Just in case. 

He set a kettle on the stove to boil before pulling a chair over to the shelf with the teapots, his favor one set on the top shelf, up high enough that no one could accidentally knock it over. He lifted the fat little pot up with a smile, melancholic and small. It had been his mothers, there were a few pictures of it sitting next to her on a little tea table. All sky blue with little roses in bright yellow swaying across it’s belly. 

Harry made his tea, peppermint, lavender, chamomile, and ginger, to ease all that pained him, and settled into one of their plush, mismatched chairs. The day wasn’t all that cold but the chill that had begun to seep into his bones the night before just wouldn’t let go. Usually when he took his potion his temperature was one of the first things to even out. Heats. Harry always thought they were horribly misnamed. When his temperature rose he never felt hot. Just a searing, constant, aching cold. 

Harry wrapped a warm blanket around himself and sipped his tea, and waited. 

And waited. 

Sunlight slanted through the open windows, spilled across the rough wood of the floor and over the worn green rug. Harry rose, tucking the blanket around himself like a worn, fuzzy cloak, leaning against the window frame he peered out onto the sun glistened city. They were late. Not something too unusual on its own, what with the increase of dark magic killings in the area and that attempted break in at the Olivander estate. What was distressing, what had Harry’s hackles rising, his heart clenched in utter panic, was that Hermione would have sent him an owl if that was what was keeping them. She always let him know, she even let him know if it was just Ron who would be late, as he often forgot to check in on his own. 

It was 6:15, according to the clock, yet no word had been sent. 

Harry drew the curtains, first the spars gauzy lace then the thick maroon velvet, plunging the room instantly into gloom.

Candles. He needed candles. And maybe a fire. He was still so cold, after all. It must be the air, one last bought of spring chill before summer had them in its balmy grasp. Candles, a fire, and a pot of soup. If they were going to be late they would probably not have eaten either. They would be happy that Harry had made them dinner. They would come in, bundled in their light spring cloaks, complaining about the unseasonable chill, praising Harry for his forethought with dinner. They would all sit down before the fire with mugs of soup to talk about the day and share each other’s woes, and tomorrow Harry would feel well enough to go to work and help out again. 

All would be well. 

Harry lit every candle he could find. The wall scones, the candelabra on the mantle. The little stub that sat in the novelty Mickey Mouse holder that Mr Weasley had given them as a house warming gift. By the time the chicken stew was simmering on the stove and the room was filled with the flickering golden warmth of the candles and hearth fire, Harry was beside himself. The homey smells, the comforting light, doing nothing to settle his nerves or warm his bones. 

He paced the short length of their common area. From the front door, past the hideous and terribly comfortable chairs, one orange, one rose pink, one emerald green, to the little kitchenette in the back. Back and forth, back and forth. just one word, that’s all he asked for. Just something to let him know that they were fine. 

They were fine. Because it didn’t make sense for them not to be. Just because Harry had had a stressful afternoon didn’t mean that they would have similar troubles. 

He had just about convinced himself it was paranoia, lingering from a near heat, that all he needed was more tea. Less ginger, more lavender and chamomile. He was halfway to the canisters when there came a knock at the door, and Harry’s stomach dropped dazzlingly to his feet. 

Just the neighbor. Mrs Holly, she wanted to borrow their cast iron again. She was making plantains, of all things, and her pan wasn’t big enough. The same as usual. Harry placed a hand on the door, it was painted bright red...they had all painted it, and the flat, together. Laughing, covered in paint, making a right mess of everything because Ron wanted to know what it was like to paint things the muggle way. He ran his hand fondly over the chipped and bubbled surface, cursing the almost heat for making him so emotional over a chunk of wood. 

“Who-” Harry cleared his throat, it had been hours since he’d used it, that was why it shook, he tried again. “Who is it?”

There was no reply, that did not mean there was no one there. Almost, he could feel them. Dark and powerful. He shook his head. It was his imagination...It was Mrs Holly. It could only be Mrs Holly.

No one else could even get in...

right?

“Mrs Holly?” He tried again, he wanted to be hopeful, he couldn’t get his voice to sound it though. 

It wasn’t a voice that reached him through the door. With a gasp Harry fell back, putting as much distance between him and the person on the other side of the door as fast as he could. Sweet orange blossoms and creamy sandalwood. It wasn’t his imagination. It was very, very real!

Everything was too loud, too bright, too overpowering for Harry. The simmering of the pot, the lid thump, thump, thumping with every bubble as loud as a thundering elephant now. The candles, once soft beacons in the dark, were now viscous pinpoints of light that burned his eyes and obscured his vision. The scent....it was everywhere. It was on everything. So strong it blocked out every trace of Hermione and Ron, and even Harry, their home. Their pack. 

The click of the lock was deafening. Final. The creak of the opening door was enough to make him feel faint. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see who stood there. But he had to. Was drawn to. 

Tom Marvolo Gaunt. Lord Gaunt, now, officially. Since his uncle passed away, it was all his. There were stories, things Harry had grown up learning about this man, this Lord. That Tom had been abandoned as a child. Had only found his uncle and learned of his nobility as a teen. Had spent his life since then rebuilding his family until they were one of the wealthiest houses left. 

That he worked hard, did unspeakable things, until the Gaunt name was the most powerful in their world. 

Worst of all he was lovely. Tall, broad and lean. Dark hair and even darker eyes only served to highlight his sharp and pale beauty. High cheek bones and finely sculpted features. Harry hated him. Hated everything he had found out about him. Hated that his beauty helped to sway those around him. Sometimes he feared that only he, Ron, and Hermione were the only ones who knew the truth. And how much of that was just the others siding with him because they were friends. Because they didn’t want Harry to be mated to someone he didn’t love. 

Tom smiled, and Harry wanted to curl into a ball on the floor. 

“Harry, dear, how nice to see you again.” Tom said, like they had run into each other on the street, like Harry had bumped into him while out buying milk. Not at all like Tom had broken into his space. Like a friend, and not like a predator looking for prey. 

Tom strode into the room, confidence and poise oozing from his very pores, he cast a dark glance around the room, the corner of his lips twitched in a sneer. “This is where you’ve been hiding.” The way he said it was like Harry had chosen to live in a bog, or under a smelly old bridge, not like he had carved a spot out for himself that was all his own. “No wonder I couldn’t find you...I was looking on the wrong side of town.” 

He wasn’t speaking to Harry, it was clear by his tone that Tom was simply musing. He had been looking for Harry, probably in the upscale flats closer to Diagon Alley, where the young nobles lived. He was right, in that at least. 

Harry lived where he did because he had, in fact, been hiding. 

Surreptitiously Harry moved to the large window between the kitchenette and fireplace. There was a fire escape there. If he was lucky Harry could be on the ledge and out of the building's anti apparition wards before Tom noticed. 

He’s have to get a message to Ron and Hermione. Let them know they had been found, that they needed to leave. He would go to the Burrow, wait for them there. 

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Tom turned to him, eyes locking onto Harry, he gave a quick flick of a glance to the window and smirked. With a few more steps Tom crossed the room, putting himself between Harry and the window. He said nothing else, just stared at Harry like starving dog. 

Harry swallowed dryly, his palms, sweaty and shaking, held to his chest and his thudding heart. “A-ask what?” His voice was reedy, too soft. But Tom heard. 

“Why I was looking for you, of course.” Tom’s smile grew as he drew closer. Harry took a involuntary step back. “You see, my dear little one, there was always something so very off about you.” 

Harry shook his head, Tom simply laughed at his attempts to deny any suspicious. 

“Oh but there is. See,” Tom laughed in disbelief. “The Potters had but one child, and due to some debts they owed me, and some agreements that were made in less than favorable circumstances, for them, that is, I was promised that if the child was an omega, we would be betrothed.”

Tom ran a hand over the green chair as he passed, it was velvety soft from wear and age. Harry’s favorite. 

It smelled like him. 

Tom’s smile grew. 

“The Potters died, unfortunately, not too long after their child was born, and then you fell into the hands of their dear friend, the disowned Mr Black.” He paused in his speech as he regarded Harry with a curious, piercing glare. “You probably don’t know this, dear Harry, but your parents kept me up to date on you before their passing. They had to, you see, as part of our agreement. Can you guess what was the last thing they told me, just after yoyu birth, just before their deaths?”

Harry shook his head, but he knew what it had to be. And suddenly everything he had ever done to keep this moment from happening. To stay free. To put distance between himself and fate he did not want. Was nothing more the weak attempts of a child trying to hide a vase they had broken. The pieces of his life, of his freedom, shattered around him. 

“They told me, they had born a gamma.” A pause. “And how curious was it then, to meet you, to see that you had present as a mere beta. Somehow defying everything I new about biology.”

“Did they lie, I asked myself. Could they have pulled one over on me? Made me think they had a potential omega then and would try again later? Have another child they would be more willing to give up? No matter how I looked at it I could not figure out what their reasoning would be for doing so.” Tom’s voice was smooth, there was no anger that Harry could hear, or scent. Just a man giving the facts. Cool and calm and collected. 

Harry shivered. The room was down right freezing. His very bones ached with it. He hugged the blanket tighter to himself and backed away, Tom dogging his every step. 

“Then there was you. Small and pretty, two things that beta males aren’t really known for. Even your little red headed friend is so much larger than yourself and he’s woefully average. So, I did a little snooping around. Do you know what I found?”

Harry’s contacts...the potions....the frequent ‘illnesses’ he had to use as cover for when the potions didn’t work or he ran out and couldn’t get more. And probably any number of things Harry hadn’t been as good at covering up as he had thought. He had foolishly assumed that Tom would eventually back down. Their last run in was so bland and uncomplicated that Harry had hoped he had lost interest completely and had begun to look for a mate elsewhere. Tom wanted to grow his family back up to its former glory, he needed heirs to do that. 

Harry's back hit the wall, there was nowhere else to go. Tom’s hands were suddenly on him, burning, freezing. The fever was worrying, though not nearly as much so as the gleam in Tom’s eyes as he lowered his head to Harry’s neck and inhaled deeply. 

“Tell me, do you know what a mimicker potion is?” 

Harry shook his head weakly, he had never heard of such a thing. But oh, he could guess. 

“It’s a lovely little potion with a very special property. Completely clear and scentless in its base state, just one drop of another potion is all that is needed for it to assume the same color, viscosity, and scent. Of course,” Tom’s grin was clear in his huskiness of his voice. The triumphant joy that poured through his scent, “It neutralizes any of the catalyst potion’s properties.”

The room spun, though Harry was still securely held in Tom’s arms. He wasn’t feeling the residual aches of a thwarted heat....he had been in preheat for hours now. He wasn’t ‘running out of time’ as he had thought. Time was now irrevocably up. It was over. 

“You’ve had your fun. Running around, solving crimes, living in the slums with your little friends. But it’s time to come home, my dear. Time to stop playing and come home.” 

A small whimper escaped Harry, it was the only sound he was able to make between how badly his body was shivering and Tom’s intoxicating scent. The heavy sweetness was impossible to avoid. It left him dizzy and wanting as it soothed his frayed and abused nerves. Just being in Tom’s arms was miles better than anything else he had tried to relieve the pain and cold of going into heat. 

“Don’t worry, love, we’ll be home soon.” Tom’s mouth was back at his neck, nuzzling and scenting him. Harry’s whimpers, part dread and part pleasure, were cut off sharply but a searing, unending pain. His body tensed completely, hands fisted in Tom’s robs, legs locking, his lungs stilled in his chest, before every muscle in his body relaxed beyond his control. Something warm, possessive and dark, forced it’s way into his conscious. Dominate and powerful, and in its own way, tender and caring. 

It was Tom. It was a bond. It had always just been words before. Bonding. He had thought he knew what it would be like. Like being given alpha commands only ten fold. This...this was different. Tom was there, and even as the rational part of Harry didn’t want him to be, he couldn’t help how right it felt. 

The last thing Harry remembered before the bond settled and his world fell into warm, protective darkness, was Tom’s bright eyes and lovely smile, his hands on Harry’s face, around his waist, lifting him up to place Harry’s head on his shoulder. Sandalwood and orange blossoms filled his senses, the low rumble of Tom’s voice, or was it a gentle croon, lulling him to sleep. 

~~~

“Oh, drat!” 

“Do you need me to do it?” 

“No,” Hermione glared at him before picking the key back up and trying again. He huffed, it was hardly his fault that she was too tired to open a single door. “It just slipped.” She said sharply as the key went in.

“Sure, sure.”

Hermione sighed as the door creaked open, letting Ron go in first. “I just hope he didn’t stay up waiting for us.”

“He got the letter, he knows when you say ‘don’t wait up’ to not wait up.” Ron tried his hardest to not stomp up the stairs, but damned if his legs didn’t feel like they weighted five tons. Harry was lucky that he had an excuse to take a day off, they had never been so swamped before. 

“I just worry, he wasn’t feeling well before.”

“He’s fine, we went out to get the potion. He’s fine, or he would have said.” Ron unlocked the door to the flat, his hands only slightly more steady than Hermione’s had been. He wanted nothing more than to go in, strip, and crash on their bed. Shower be damned, it could wait for the morning!

Instead he opened the door to disaster.

Smoke billowed out in a thick cloud, little spots of flickering light here and there. Panic gripped his chest, painful and metalic on his tongue. Their flat was on fire!

“Harry!” Hermione yelled, dashing into the flat, knocking Ron into the wall in the process. With a wave of her wand the smoke was gone in a instant so they could take in the damage...of which, there wasn’t any.

Hermion walked to their small kitchen and flicked off the heat of the stove. “Well the stew he was making is ruined. Harry!” She called again. But Ron was already moving. 

“He isn’t in his room.” Ron ran back out into the common area, looking around frantically, as though Harry might be in his chair and they had just misses him...but he wasn’t “Did he leave? Why would he leave without sending a note first?” Where would he go in the middle of the night?

“He wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t have left food on the stove either.” Hermione ran a hand through her hair, wincing as his got stuck in a mess of tangled curls. 

“Oh dear, what happened here?” Mrs Holly stood in their door, looking around as though she had no idea the flat next door had literally been on fire!

“Mrs Holly,” Hermione said breathlessly, “please tell me you know where Harry is.”

“Oh yes, dear.” And for a single, blissful moment, Ron thought all their worries were over. Until Mrs Holly said, “that nice young man from the papers, that Lord Gaunt, he was here.”

“You didn’t let him take Harry, did you!” No one was more surprised that the out burst had been Ron and not Hermione. As a beta he shouldn’t be the one going out of his mind about his pack, but he was. Harry was different, he was family. No amount of instincts or lack there of would dull the pain of losing him. 

“Well of course I did, he said he was Harry’s alpha, he had the papers to prove it.”

Of course the git had papers, he was a bloody lord. The bloody Lord. 

Mrs Holly’s expression darkened as she stared down Hermione. “I didn’t know that Harry was an omega.” She left it at that but what wasn’t said sat heavy in the air between them. That what they had done was illegal. They not only housed an omega that wasn’t their own, they let him get a job that his real alpha would have needed to sign off on. Worse, they knew he had an alpha and were actively keeping them apart. If Mrs Holly took this to the ministry they were both looking at jail time, Hermione was possibly looking at the confiscation and destruction of her wand as well. She may never see the light of day as a free alpha again. 

“Thank you for your help, Mrs Holly,” Hermione bit out stiffly before slamming the door in her face, she took several deep breaths. In and out, slow and steady. Ron knew what she was doing...knew that she was running up against the same things as he. The dual scents of smoke and scorched stew hid anything that would have remained of Tom and Harry’s scents. There was no trace left that they had been there, let alone any way to tell how long ago they had left. 

“Do you think he got the potion...do you think...” There was any hope that he didn’t know. But even as he said it, couldn’t finish it, he knew that Lord Gaunt had to know. No one stole betas in the night. Mrs Holly knew. 

“Get the bag.” Hermione said, her forehead rested on the door, one hand fisted on the bright wood, the other clutching her chest, she sounded far more collected than Ron felt. He ran into their room to searched under the bed. They had always had a bag packed, magicked to hold everything the three of them would need if they had to leave on the fly. 

They had more than enough to two now. 

“Where are we going?” Ron asked as he left the room for the last time, bag slung over his shoulder. 

“The Burrow...for tonight.” Hermione shook her head, her dark eyes looking into some far off distance. A place where they were on the run. Where they would plan to get Harry back. Where they would be wanted criminals who had only ever sought to help their friend. “We’ll figure this all out tomorrow.” 

Her voice was still strong, it did not hide the sadness in her eyes. She took Ron’s hand and led him out onto the landing and down the stairs. They stepped into the cold, misty night, and in a instant were gone. Nothing left of their passage but the faint scent of smoke and the fading echos of a tiny, little, pop.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again Loves. 
> 
> I've had this idea in my head for a really long time, and this was just the perfect place to do it. I guess it could have gone for arranged marriage or bonding BUT I wanted the sweet Demon/Fairy AU for that 
> 
> I wanted to post this over a week ago but I'm very sick (bronchitis, according to the doctor. Who I'll see again tomorrow so we'll see if it changes) I don't know when the nesting story will be posted...or written. There's a nesting prompt for the Omegaverse Monthly challenge I'm doing. So maybe expect it in a few months. 
> 
> Thanks for reading guys! This is very sloppily edited since I'm still so sick. And it's very open ended. But I hope you like it!  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
